glorious. It does not bring down the high and holy; but lifts up all
things to a divine level. It desecrates no temple; but consecrates the
universe. It breaks no Sabbath; but makes every day a Sabbath, and all
time one lengthened holy day. It degrades no priest; but makes all men
priests. It does not bring down the high, but raises the low. It denies
not heaven; but brings down heaven to earth. Everywhere is heaven.
God's kingdom is an universal kingdom. His presence, His throne, His
glory, are everywhere, and heaven is all around us and within us. The
universe is heaven.' Thus spake the devil.

And now came in his progressive poets to give those broad, those high,
those rational, those philosophical principles, this theology and
religion of advanced humanity, this Church and worship of the future,
the fascination of their ecstatic genius, and all the charms of numbers,
rhyme, and melody. 'My religion is love,' sings one, 'the richest and
fairest.' 'Abou Ben Adhem,' sings another. 'He loves not God; but loves
God's creature man. Give him a place,--the highest place,--in heaven.'
Another sings, 'The poor man's Sunday walk.' The advanced religionist,
addressing his wife, exclaims,

The morning of our rest has come,
The sun is shining clear;
I see it on the steeple-top:
Put on your shawl, my dear,
And let us leave the smoky town,
The dense and stagnant lane,
And take our children by the hand
To see the fields again.
I've pined for air the livelong week;
For the smell of new-mown hay;
For a pleasant, quiet, country walk,
On a sunny Sabbath day.

Our parish church is cold and damp;
I need the air and sun;
We'll sit together on the grass,
And see the children run.
We'll watch them gather butter-cups,
Or cowslips in the dell,
Or listen to the cheerful sounds
Of the far-off village bell;
And thank our God with grateful hearts,
Though in the fields we pray;
And bless the healthful breeze of heaven,
On a sunny Sabbath day.

I'm weary of the stifling room,
Where all the week we're pent;
Of the alley fill'd with wretched life,
And odors pestilent:
And long once more to see the fields,
And the grazing sheep and beeves;
To hear the lark amid the clouds,
And the wind among the leaves;
And all the sounds that glad the air